


Anchor

by elinimate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, partially canon compliant, written before 3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinimate/pseuds/elinimate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles fought until his body gave up and his mind was blank. That’s when he found true peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

Stiles wasn’t skillful in a fight, but he fought like a man who had nothing to be afraid of. He fought while his flesh was swelling and purpling with bruises, while foreign objects pierced his skin and hampered the ability of his muscles to contract, while blood was pouring out of his nose, mouth and one time even his ears. Stiles fought until his body gave up and his mind was blank. That’s when he found true peace.

He healed. Broken bones slowly mended together. Scars covered puncture wounds. Bandages were replaced and finally removed. Worried looks became soft, nervous smiles. Arguments carried a hint of desperation. Stiles closed his eyes and saw darkness. So he started all over again. And again.

Derek Hale returned to town. No dramatic entrance, just a shadow in the peripheral, pale eyes in the moonlight. Peter wasn’t there. Neither was Cora. There was a hard line in the older man’s face that hadn’t been there before. A dullness to his eyes. But Stiles smiled.

He’d see Derek sometimes when he was up to his elbows into whatever supernatural shitstorm had been thrown at them this time. See him slash through bone like butter, feel the vibrations of his howls behind his sternum. And Stiles rolled his shoulder and tightened the grip on his bat. He fought like a man who wasn’t afraid. Derek fought like a man who had nothing to lose.

Stiles saw things sometimes. Horrible, unspeakable things. Real things. And a man with light in his eyes. But Derek Hale’s eyes were never that bright. And that’s how Stiles knew this wasn’t real. He smiled.   

They’d meet up sometimes, afterwards. The whole pack together, coming down from the adrenaline crash. They’re dead, we’re alive, woo. Scott’s gaze flitted over everyone. Checking. Worrying. Stiles glanced over at Derek, who sat amputated from the group. Scott opened up his mouth, but whatever he saw on Derek’s face made him close up just as quickly. Stiles shut his eyes and saw darkness. So he opened them again and asked: “Are Cora and Peter still alive?” He didn’t want to know the answer.

He got hurt again. Badly, if the red flashing of Scott’s eyes was anything to go by. He flapped his arm uselessly. “You’re going to confuse traffic with those lamps.” Scott clenched his crooked jaw and grabbed hold of Stiles’ hand. Black veins travelled up his arms. Stiles looked at the faces around him and settled on Derek’s.  

Sometimes he woke up with his joints sounding like rice crispies. Sometimes he woke up screaming, with his father's arms around him, the rough timbre of his voice making nonsensical, soothing sounds. Sometimes he woke up in the hospital, to beeping monitors and an angry whispered “never again!” belonging to Scott or his friends. But sometimes Derek was propped up in a chair next to him, arms crossed, pale eyes following his twitchy movements.

“Why are you doing this, Stiles.”

Stiles regarded him, the worn set of his shoulders, the sharper angles of his face. “Why did you come back?”

Derek looked at him like he wanted to argue on the principle of being the first to ask. “Because Cora found her old pack and wanted back. Peter wanted to stop her. I couldn’t let him.” And Stiles just nodded. He closed his eyes again and saw darkness.

“And because of you.” Stiles felt the faintest brush of something resembling a kiss touch his forehead. He smiled. “I was lost,” he said. He focused on the sound of the chair creaking slightly next to him, shuffling closer. “But you’re here now.” His mind faded, sleep tugging at him. Peaceful.  

 

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**Author's Note:**

> A little drabble I found in my drafts folder. I have lots of them. Figured I'd come out of hiding and start by posting one. Unbeta'd.


End file.
